Dreams of a Chocolatier
by SilenceintheGraveyard
Summary: The Chocolate Factory...it consumed Charlie's thoughts and dreams, haunting him with the heavy scent of confectionary. He had seen such wonders, watched miracles happen right before his eyes. Oh, it was all a dream come true, and it could have all been his. Takes place directly after the visit with Willy Wonka's father.


Things were looking up for Charlie and his family; his father's new job had much better pay, and Grandpa Joe being able to help out around the house allowed his mother to devote more time to her vegetable garden. Soon she grew so many vegetables that she began to set up a little stall outside their house to sell the extras on the weekends. They were able to fix every hole in the roof and walls, buy new clothes, and always had food on the table. Life had never been better. But Charlie couldn't feel happy.

 _The Chocolate Factory..._ it consumed Charlie's thoughts and dreams, haunting him with the heavy scent of confectionary. He had seen such wonders, watched miracles happen right before his eyes. Oh, it was all a dream come true, and it could have all been his. But Willy Wonka had had to go and spoil it by forcing him to make that impossible choice; the Chocolate Factory, or his family? Of course he chose his family! They meant everything to him, they _needed_ him! Charlie couldn't leave them to chase the wild dreams of a chocolatier.

But the decision tore him apart. As the months passed his heart filled with a desperate longing to see the Chocolate Factory again; to walk over the mint grass meadow and watch the Oompa-Loompas at work, to explore the maze-like rooms and sample experimental concoctions, to ride in that boiled sweet boat down the tumultuous chocolate river side by side with Willy Wonka and taste his genius in the very air. It was everything he'd ever wanted, and it could have _all. Been._ _ **His**_ _._ This thought tormented him so much that he stopped walking by the factory on his way home from school, even going so far as to throw away the model he'd made of it. And though his parents had money to spare now, he refused to buy a single Wonka bar. But despite this cold-turkey approach Willy Wonka's face kept appearing in his dreams, his violet eyes glinting with delightful madness.

Charlie wasn't sure why he'd offered to go with Mr. Wonka to reconnect with his father, considering all the heartache Mr. Wonka had caused him. Maybe it was because Mr. Wonka couldn't seem to make new candies, a thought Charlie found almost as unbearable as the thought of never seeing the Factory again. Or maybe he hoped if Mr. Wonka could see that his father really cared for him, he'd change his mind about Charlie's family. Charlie stole a sideways glance at the candy maker as they flew back home, and he looked just as he had when having flashbacks during the tour; standing perfectly still, eyes full of distress, left brow raised slightly higher than the right, and mouth partly open in confused reflection. Charlie's heart sank; that did not bode well for his hopes of Mr. Wonka changing his mind.

As they flew over the town Charlie realized that they weren't heading towards his house, or even the street corner where Mr. Wonka had found him. Instead, they were heading towards the Chocolate Factory. Charlie's heart started pounding; it couldn't be true! Beside him, he felt Mr. Wonka tense up. He glanced over to see him tapping on his walking stick, no longer lost somewhere in his own thoughts but back in the elevator. But he kept his eyes firmly forward, avoiding looking at Charlie. As the glass elevator lowered into the factory, Charlie's heart filled with trepidation and hope-raw, desperate hope. _He was going to see the factory again._

The Chocolatier and his almost-heir remained still and silent as statues as the elevator carried them ever downward, the tension building and building until it seemed impossible that the glass walls-indestructible though they were-could contain it. At last they landed, the doors dinged open, and Charlie was greeted with the mouthwatering scent of the Chocolate Room. Willy Wonka stepped out with a casual purpose that suggested he'd forgotten Charlie was there. But after several paces he stopped and turned his head to peer back at the boy. When Charlie didn't move Mr. Wonka fully turned and gestured around the eatable paradise.

"Welcome back," he said.

Charlie stepped out of the elevator as though in a trance, taking in everything from mint grass to candy trees to chocolate river. It was just as beautiful as he remembered-delicious, tempting, lucious-so much so he wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. The only difference was the lighting; now dim and blue like evening instead of bright as day. He stretched out his arms as he lifted his nose skyward and inhaled deeply, the intoxicating scent nearly substantial enough to fill his stomach. He wanted this, he wanted it _all_ ; every taste, every smell, every sensation.

"Charlie, are you angry with me?"

Mr. Wonka's voice broke through Charlie's euphoria, and he turned to look at him. The chocolatier was leaning forward on his walking stick and staring at Charlie, his face serious and his gaze steady.

Charlie gazed back into the man's violet eyes. Though they didn't move, they danced and trembled with the emotion absent from his face. It was dizzying, the turmoil behind those eyes; confusion, fear, disgust, loss, euphoria, and uncertainty swirled in those eyes like the chocolate river mixed by waterfall. Charlie felt those emotions pass through their gaze and into his own heart. How could he be angry?

"No," Charlie said. "Why would you think that?"

Mr. Wonka blinked in surprise. Then he leaned back, lifting his nose into the air and looking at Charlie through half-lidded eyes. "Because I'm angry with you," he said in the same condescending tone he'd used on the parents and other children on the tour.

But it was a facade, one that Charlie saw through immediately. "No you aren't."

"What?" Mr. Wonka said sharply.

"You're lying. You're not angry with me." Charlie thought of the way the candy maker had looked when Charlie refused his offer; like a kid who'd been told no for the first time. "You're just used to getting what you want."

Mr. Wonka's face now moved from defiance to confusion to nervousness in one fluid motion, and his eyes darted around as though he could read his own thoughts in the world around him.

"Why did you bring me here?" Charlie asked.

The Chocolatier tilted his head to the side and murmured, "I just thought you'd like to see it again." Then his eyes met Charlie's, and his lips stretched into the false smile he'd used on the other four ticket winners. By the end of the tour Charlie knew that false smile meant that Mr. Wonka was feeling quite vexed. "But that was pretty silly of me. You don't care about this factory. Why would you ever wanna see any part of it ever again? Heh!"

Charlie never expected to be on the receiving end of this sinister falseness. Mr. Wonka had been genuine-if enigmatic and misleading-when speaking to the boy during the tour. It made him angry to hear those words; how could his idol imagine he didn't care?

"You're wrong," Charlie said, taking a step towards the Chocolatier. "I love this factory. It's every dream I've ever had come true."

Mr. Wonka's falseness shattered like glass and he stared at Charlie with wide eyes.

"There were only five golden tickets," Charlie continued. " _Five_. In the _entire_ world. And I only opened _three_ of your candy bars. I found the last golden ticket in a Wonka bar I bought with money I found in the street. _Surely_ that means something?"

He shook his head and looked away from Mr. Wonka to gaze at the eatable paradise. He didn't see Mr. Wonka's stricken face or the trembling gleam in his eyes.

"I don't know what it's been like for you, but I can't stop thinking about how lucky I was to win...how it seems like it was meant to happen. And it makes me feel-"

"Empty inside?" Mr. Wonka finished the thought.

Charlie stared at him in wonder. Had he heard that right? Mr. Wonka himself seemed baffled by what he said, and lifted a gloved hand to his mouth. How remarkable it was to stand before such a genius, and to see him so uncertain.

"Yes," Charlie agreed."

"Charlie, I…" Mr. Wonka struggled on the verge of speech.

Charlie gave him an encouraging sort of nod and a hint of a smile. Mr. Wonka swallowed and tried again.

"Charlie, I don't…that is to say, I want…I mean I'd really...well, I...

Mr. Wonka's face scrunched and twitched, his mouth working hard though no words came out, just like it always did when he tried to say the word 'parents.' His left hand waved and fluttered as though it could somehow yank the words from his mouth, or else illustrate his thoughts without the words at all. The quirk had confused Charlie during the tour, but now it made him sad. He wished he knew what the candy man was trying to say, so he could provide the words that seemed to stick in his throat. But he didn't, so instead of saying "yeah, that," Mr. Wonka stopped trying to speak. His hand froze mid-gesticulation, and he stared vacantly forward.

The silence stretched like taffy, and for the first time Charlie noticed a small chittering noise. He looked around to see that the Oompa-Loompas had clustered around them in a wide, loose circle. Their small forms, half hidden in the gloom, were perfectly still; not working, but watching. A chill ran down Charlie's spine as he remembered that there was a world outside these candy walls- _his_ world. And he should be getting back to it.

"Thank you for bringing me here," he said, "but I really should be going. My family will wonder where I am. No need to give me a ride, I can walk. And you don't have to show me out, I know the way." Charlie turned away and, painful as it was, started walking towards the exit.

"No, wait!"

Charlie froze; he'd never heard that kind of panic in Mr. Wonka's voice. Not when the other four ticket winners were in danger, not even when going to see his father.

"Please don't leave," Mr. Wonka said quietly. "Please stay here with me. I-I don't want to be alone anymore."

Tears welled in Charlie's eyes. He blinked and they rolled down his cheeks. He had never in his wildest dreams expected Mr. Wonka to beg. He thought of the thought Mr. Wonka had finished for him; "and it makes me feel empty inside." He hated that his idol suffered, but was thrilled to know that his feelings were shared. He turned back around to find Mr. Wonka looking straight at him with wide, pleading eyes. When their eyes met, alarm flickered across Mr. Wonka's face and he flinched backward

"Why are you doing that?" He asked. "There is no crying, wailing, whining, or pouting allowed in my factory! It spoils the taste of the chocolate!"

Charlie gave a shaky laugh. "I'm sorry. It's just...I _want_ to stay with you.

"You do?" Mr. Wonka said in breathless surprise.

Charlie sniffed and nodded. "But like it or not, my family is a part of who I am. If I were to stay with you, but be without them, i'd still be incomplete...and empty inside."

Mr. Wonka's face contorted into an expression that was part deep surprise, and part wondering revelation. "I see," he said in a soft voice. He blinked and his eyes and face went serious again. "Charlie, you told me you love my factory, yeah?"

"Yes," Charlie said with a nod, hardly daring to breath.

"Do you suppose your f-ff...ah, f..f…"

"Family," Charlie provided.

Mr. Wonka gave him a small, grateful smile. "Yeah. Do you suppose they'd love the factory too?"

Charlie smiled from ear to ear. "Yes, I know they would. My Grandpa Joe already does."

"Yeah?" Mr. Wonka said eagerly, a genuine smile forming on his lips. "Well that's good, since they'll have to follow you here if you're gonna be my heir!"

"Really?" Charlie said, hardly able to speak through the glow of happiness in his chest.

"And tell you what, I'll move your entire house to this very spot," he tapped his walking stick on the minty ground and waved his hand through the air like a magician for emphasis. "They'll never even have to step outside their door!

"You can really do that?" Charlie asked in wondermint.

"Of course I can," Mr. Wonka said with a twinkle in his eyes. "I can do anything I want to! They'd probably be more comfortable like that anyway. All my rooms are a bit...unpredictable."

Charlie was too elated to spare that strange comment any thought. "Y-yes," he stuttered, hardly able to speak through barely-suppressed laughter. "That would be wonderful, like living in a fairyland! Yes, yes of course I'll stay with you!"

The nearly-forgotten Oompa-Loompas surrounding them cheered, stepping out of the shadows so Charlie could see their grinning faces. Mr. Wonka's expression of pure delight instantly transformed him into a child. He fairly _shimmered_ with excitement.

"Fantabulous!" he said. "Oh, I can't _wait_ to start your lessons, obviously we have a lot of time to make up, but I'm sure you'll-"

Mr. Wonka gasped mid-sentence as Charlie wrapped his arms around him in his excitement.

Charlie instantly let go when he felt the chocolatier tense. "Sorry, sir," he said. "I know you don't like that."

"It's ok my dear boy," Mr. Wonka said, giving him an awkward grin and patting the top of his head. "Well, we'd better get a move-on! We've got a lot of work to do before the day is out." He stretched out his hand towards the boiled-sweet boat. "Are you ready?"

Charlie's eyes sparkled. "Ready," he said.


End file.
